


Entry Level Angel

by destihecker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (because spoilers), Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Roommates, Cursed Castiel (Supernatural), Cursed Dean Winchester, Dark Humor, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Honorary Angel Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Realism, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teacher Castiel (Supernatural), Teacher Dean Winchester, Witches, magic is known
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25101811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destihecker/pseuds/destihecker
Summary: Apparently Heaven is home to some celestial mad scientists, and Cas has been caught in the crossfire. Honestly, it's hard to believe that just last weekend he was still perfectlyhuman,not a goddamn DIY pseudo-angel.Cas' less-than-consensual induction into the so-called "Angel Experiment" is far from his only magical concern; if anything, it's a catalyst. An all too eager catalyst, set to reveal what has already been forming, just below the surface of his seemingly mundane life——plus, Dean sure as hell better get over his blatant witch-phobia, ASAP.This is a rewrite + continuation of a fic I'd originally posted in 2016 on a second account (destiheller)!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. Skillset Required: Superhumanity

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Angel Experiment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362390) by [destiheller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destiheller/pseuds/destiheller). 



> So wow, it's been a long time since I've posted on AO3. ;u; In that time, I've pretty much completed an entire English/creative writing degree, so I guess I kinda just got wrapped up in... writing a ton of stuff that wasn't fic, lol. I definitely didn't have as much time to work on my own writing as I did in high school. But! I used to love writing fanfic so frickin' much, so I'm gonna try rewriting/hopefully finishing [somethin' I'd begun working on in 2016](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362390/chapters/19156084), right before I stopped posting on AO3. (The fic was my only upload onto a second account, destiheller.) 
> 
> I've made some pretty fundamental changes to the story, though—in the original, magic wasn't widely known, but it sure as hell is now~ Also, no one will probably even catch this except for me (since I only finished the first five chapters of the original draft), but I've added a pretty huge ~twist~ later on. c':< Basically something that wasn't originally in my plans, that ends up having a pretty dramatic effect on the entire narrative!
> 
> I currently don't have an update schedule, but if I ever stop posting for a while without notice, feel free to nag me about it. c': I'm pretty determined to finish this fic, this time around. I still have a huge soft spot for the story, as poorly executed as it was the first time around~

_Saturday, October 3rd:_

“Ah, wait— shit!”

_Splosh._

Castiel’s muscles stiffened on reflex, inviting him to gawk down at his own forearm. His skin was left slick with the sheen of espresso. A now half-empty mug was cradled loosely in his opposite hand, its Han Solo decal fixing him with an oh-so-fittingly judgmental stare.

Hot coffee. He’d just doused his bare arm in _hot coffee_.

(Spine-chillingly pricey, _imported_ coffee, at that— lord, what a waste.)

And, seemingly by the grace of his mid-century modern kitchen, he wasn’t burnt. The heat was certainly there, sliding and prickling against his skin, like some kind of extra-strength Pop Rocks— but there was no pain. There was no reddening of his flesh, his arm still tinged golden by the dusty mid-morning sunlight. 

_Well, that’s certainly… new._

By all existing reason, Cas _knew_ that he should’ve promptly begun flipping his shit. This had to be an indicator of some kind of bio-engineered, flesh-hacking disease, right? That, or one of the few witches he knew had decided to not-so-discreetly take him on as a spell-casting dummy. 

Or a curse, even? Although, it would have been hilariously counter-productive for an act of vengeance to _protect_ him from injury. Hell, even then, Cas didn’t exactly have a reputation of pissing people off— at least, past his occasional gaudy fashion choices. Those could be distracting and potentially upsetting, depending on the refinement of one’s taste. 

Now, _that_ would just have been a petty curse, but Cas would have understood. Some people simply found deeper value in upholding their preferred aesthetics. 

_Plick._

Cas continued to rattle his mind, all the while watching individual drops of coffee slither and drip from his arm. They puddled onto the linoleum floor, alongside the steadily materializing globs of his thought process, as it continued to slobber out of his skull. Should he do something? Should he at least _tell_ someone? Was it serious, or simply a one-time miracle on an otherwise forgettable morning? There was certainly a chance that he had just been saved a visit to Urgent Care. 

Should he even risk alerting Dean, his famously magic-phobic best friend and roommate?

_Plick._

_Plick—_

After some frenzied consideration, Cas jolted back to life and moved to clean up the spill. 

⁂

If anything mattered to Cas during that casually nihilistic time following his quarter-life crisis, it was his Saturday afternoon ‘bonding’ sessions with Dean. Each week, they slumped on opposite ends of their thrift-tier sofa, quietly grading the assignments of their respective students. Instrumental rock pulsed through phone speakers and took over most of the surrounding air, alongside beats of note-taking, typing, and periodic tongue-clicking. 

Frankly, for Cas, it was the epitome of domestic bliss. 

As much as he lived for his and Dean’s more active conversations, Cas also reveled in the security of their quieter rituals. Apparently, Cas had developed a bit of a _thing_ for unspoken intimacy, even if they weren’t—

“Hey, you hungry?”

Dean was now nudging Cas with a socked foot, gently prodding at his roommate’s calf. Cas peered up from his lap. All the while, Dean continued to stare vacantly at his laptop screen, vision almost certainly falling out of focus.

The fading traces of daylight framed Dean from behind, the tousled tips of his hair glowing like a field of candlelight. Pair that with his corpse-worthy dark circles, and there you had it: the duality of Winchester. The very essences of life and death, all bundled up into the appearance of one man. One man who sure as hell hadn’t been prioritizing sleep, lately. 

“Cas? Dinner? You interested?” 

Now, Dean’s gaze had turned upwards, scoping Cas out. 

Cas hummed. “I guess,” he said, absentmindedly clicking the pen in his hand. “Honestly, I haven’t had much of an appetite, today. But yeah, I should probably eat something.”

“Huh. Have you at least eaten, at all? Like, anything?”

Upon reflection, the closest Cas had come to “eating” had involved him reverse-baptizing his forearm with his morning coffee. Hunger hadn’t been on his subconscious to-do list, that day. 

Honestly, he wouldn’t have been shocked if his caffeine-free panic attack was what had killed his appetite, in the first place. 

Cas shrugged, dismissive. “No, I haven’t. Maybe I’m getting sick, I don’t know.”

At that, Dean hauled his supplies over to the center of the couch, before swinging his legs over the side. “Dude. Guess I’m gonna have to feed the shit outta you, then,” Dean grumbled, already heading toward the kitchen, cutting the music on his way there. 

Exit Dean Winchester, world-class champion of passive-aggressive mother-henning. 

Clearing his own lap onto the nearby coffee table, Cas trailed just behind. 

By the time Cas had reached the narrow archway dividing the kitchen from their living space, Dean was rifling enthusiastically through the refrigerator. “Okay, so I know you don’t have much of an appetite, but do you got any preference?” he asked, stealing a glance toward Cas, before returning his attention to the fridge. 

Again, Cas shrugged. He took a seat at the breakfast bar, leisurely tapping his fingertips against the pale pink surface. “No preference, no,” he replied, right as Dean was shifting his focus over to the freezer.

“Okay, well, you in the mood for—” Dean began, before abruptly cutting himself off. He was left staring into the open freezer, unmoving.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Cas,” Dean grunted, side-eyeing Cas from over his shoulder. “What the hell is in the freezer?”

To his lukewarm dismay, Cas didn’t need to ask what Dean was referring to. He still wished that he’d remembered to mention it _before_ Dean had made the discovery, however. “Oh,” he said, gnawing at his lip. “So, when you were out visiting Sam this morning, I told my co-worker she could stop by. Basically, she’s in the middle of moving apartments, and she’d only just enchanted some moss the other day, so—”

“ _Enchanted moss?_ So, our freezer is packed with, like, thirty Tupperwares full of… fuckin’ accursed tree snot?” 

Half-heartedly, Cas began to tug on the peach-fuzzy leaf of the nearest houseplant. Eclectically-arranged greenery could be found across a fair portion of the kitchen. And those god-forsaken plants were now sat, silently observing Cas' situation— assholes, even if their amusement was well-concealed. “Dean, that’s rude. She’d put a lot of time and effort into enchanting it, and she didn’t want to risk it getting destroyed during her move. I’m only being polite,” he said, finishing at a mutter. Cas hesitated before rolling his eyes, belatedly punctuating his argument with a bit more fervor. 

“Cas—”

“Oh, also, I’m pretty sure it’s only fourteen Tupperwares. Not thirty.” Because, clearly, thirty would just have been excessive. After all, there _was_ such a thing as too much DIY, home-enchanted purple and red moss. Cas liked to believe that his co-worker wasn’t crossing that delicate threshold; he wasn’t a witch himself, but it was only fair to give her judgment the benefit of the doubt. 

With a short huff, Dean turned back to shut the freezer door. “Whatever, guess it’s good we don’t keep much shit in there, anyway,” he said, crouching down to return to the fridge. “But I’m blaming you if I, like, sprout a third arm in my sleep, or somethin’.”

“Dean!” Cas gasped, albeit weakly. “She’s a dryadic witch. I highly doubt she spends too much time working with… freaky limb-growth magic.”

With a concluding grunt, Dean began to yank fresh beef and a head of lettuce from the fridge. 

⁂

It didn’t seem to take long for Dean to notice: Cas' face had twisted in on itself, contorting mid-chew of his burger. Cas let out a weak gag in the back of his throat, but for the most part, he was still. 

“Uh, hey, Cas? Somethin’ goin’ on over there?” Dean asked. He took a swig of his beer, waiting for Cas to collect himself. 

Cas swallowed the food that, up until that moment, he’d considered to be Dean’s specialty. “This tastes weird,” he mumbled, squinting at his meal.

It really did, though— somehow, the flavor was morphing between acrid and utterly tasteless, as it all turned to a tacky paste on his tongue. 

Dean nearly gagged on his beer, sputtering onto the countertop. “Dude, way to lay it on thick. Hell,” he grumbled. Still, the chuckle that followed was light. 

“No, I mean— actually, I don’t know what I mean. Other than, I guess I _am_ sick, then,” Cas said, dropping his hardly-touched burger as if it had personally slighted him. “I can hardly taste. God, this is awful.”

Dean smirked. “Or, just maybe, you’ve been afflicted by the presence of _The Accursed Moss._ ” Dean was clearly attempting to appear somber in the face of his great revelation, but had hardly managed to contain his giggle.

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester, you are a menace.”

“Fuck off, man, I’m a _delight_.”

And Cas couldn’t possibly will himself to disagree. 

Not long after his aborted attempt at force-feeding himself— formerly known as “dinner”— Cas opted to head to bed early. It hadn’t been an easy decision to make; he was consciously sacrificing time spent with Dean that _didn’t_ involve either work or… meaty disappointments.

Sure, initially, it had seemed to be a perfectly responsible plan of action; this decision was further endorsed by Dean, whose not-so-inner caretaker was already well in action. Still, Cas was soon struck by a pretty vital realization: This would have been simpler if he were at all _tired_. He was initially willing to sympathize with his body— it wasn’t as if he usually crashed at seven o’clock on a Saturday night. Internal adjustments would have to be made, surely. After all, he was a man of… semi-strict routine. 

Several hours of lying awake later, however, and Cas had to admit that he was a bit miffed. 

The air in his room was beginning to feel especially dry, as were the inner surfaces of his mouth. He let out a tempered groan, grinding the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. If he really was coming down with a cold, and _this_ was what it was going to be like, then the next few days were going to be _miserable_. 

Still, admittedly, Cas couldn’t exactly say he felt all that _ill_ , aside from his newfound distastes for eating and sleeping— which, sure, were probably two of his favorite pastimes. Until—

Cas found himself rolling out of his blanket cocoon, both to oblige his fidgety legs and to grab a glass of water. He had barely reached the foot of his bed when he began to _burn_.

_What, a hot flash? Seriously, now?_

_God_ , a really, absurdly skin-searing hot flash. 

Staggering on loose legs, Cas fell backwards, perching on the edge of his mattress. 

Just ahead, he was able to catch his reflection in the full-body mirror, where it leant against the otherwise bare wall. Despite the dark of the room, Cas was able to make out his paling features, cast over by moonlight. 

And, as a _delightful_ bonus, there was also the visible outline of his rib cage. Which was glowing, hot and electric blue, its light seeping through his flimsy T-shirt. 

_Yikes_. So… 

Was ‘auto X-raying bioluminescent abdomen’ a symptom of anything serious?

Before Cas had a chance to find his phone and consult the WebMD app, or even the worryingly extensive Curses4You™ database— 

—the room seemed to collapse in on itself, oozing into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [And here's my tumblr!](http://goblincas.tumblr.com)  
> Also, concrit is _always_ welcome and valued, especially since I'm still reorienting myself into writing Destiel fic again. :'D


	2. Sins of "The Moss"

_ No doubt, Cas had infiltrated a business casual wonderland. _

_ The pearly, spit-shined walls were bearing down on him, their surface nearly as glossy as the lapel pin of the nearest corporate crony. Only a handful of attendees seemed to have spotted Cas; admittedly, it was hard to tell just how many that was, given the vacant overtone of their glares. They’d initially sneered down at him, but soon fell into muted giggle fits, erupting one-by-one.  _

_ Clearly, there were some conflicted-as-hell emotions at play— and Cas’ arrival was the catalyst, it seemed.  _

_ One woman abruptly quieted, ran her palms down a perfectly pressed blouse, all before melding back into the swarm. Then, a separate, male flockmate tried his hand at the same move. Although, his joints were tragically under-oiled, missing the easy elegance of the gesture. In any case, they all lost interest pretty damn quickly. Then, they were off, sucked back into the many-suited mass.  _

_Cas stayed oh-so still. Kept silent. He blinked slowly, hoping to cast the fog from his mind. He would certainly benefit from some_ _old-fashioned deduction, right now._

_ So, where the hell was he?  _

_ Alright, two working theories: Either he was nabbed by a fundamentalist cult, or he’d been forcibly inducted into a secret society of smarmy, wannabee lawyers. Not that Cas would have been of much use to them, given his lone degree in middle grade education, plus his utter inability to feign indifference during an argument. Maybe there’d been a mix-up on the roster? _

_ Anyhow, Cas could hardly feel his feet. He was actually pretty numb below the waist, altogether. Was he even wearing shoes? _

_ Yet— as Cas tried, finally, to step forward, the scene was swallowed by a sharp blue light.  _

_ From white,  _

_ to blue,  _

_ to black. And, he was consumed. _

⁂

The stream of sunlight hit Cas’ closed eyelids, visible even before his other senses joined him in the waking realm. Morning rays flickered across his face— if anything, their caress felt strangely tangible. Cas could feel the heat carefully needling against his cheeks, never penetrating the skin. Instead, warmth clung to him like a strategically loose layer of Cling Wrap. Sticky, almost. 

Seconds later, Cas jerked upright. He noted that he’d been lying horizontally across his mattress, blankets bunched up beneath his back, calves protruding over the side of the bed. 

Huh.

Finally, with the force of a mental joyride gone wrong…  _ it _ struck Cas. He was all but  _ smacked _ to a screeching halt— and, somehow simultaneously, sent into overdrive. “Wait, wait, wait—”

At that, Cas practically flung himself in the direction of his mirror, wobbly legs be damned. Hardly hesitating, Cas lifted the fabric of his shirt, exposing his bare abdomen.

And it was exactly that— bare. Colorless.

Normal.

Truly, Cas couldn’t say he had ever been witness to a less interesting abdomen.

He squinted at his own reflection, as if challenging himself to unveil the truth… which, was  _ surely _ being concealed in plain sight. Right? Still, there were no visible changes. There was no internal blue glow, his flesh as dim as ever. 

As vivid as the previous night had been— and despite how much Cas wished it  _ had  _ been an exhaustion-induced haze— there were no lingering clues as to whether it had even happened. At least, nothing concrete enough to be considered a valid “clue.”

Still, just to be sure, Cas decided to go through with that Curses4U™ search; after all, he’d been rudely interrupted, the first time he’d tried. Despite the slew of relatively specific keywords (“bright blue glowing lit up abdomen torso passed out”), no results seemed to fit his case closely enough to warrant further research. Already, he’d hit a wall. 

_ Unless, maybe this really _ is _ all because of The Moss? _

Yeah, he’d have to ask Charlie about that, ASAP.

As it would turn out, a trip to the kitchen didn’t offer much insight, either. Groaning his frustration, Cas shuffled over to the sink, honing in on the windowsill-dwelling houseplants. There was a modest trio, all potted herbs. 

All belonged to Dean, believe it or not. 

Whenever Cas had met his now-best friend several years back, he’d never have pegged him as a plant-ternal, green thumb type; a conventionally rugged man, whose entire put-on persona practically _ radiated  _ “unresolved daddy issues.” Nonetheless, Cas and Dean hadn’t lived together very long at all, before the countertops and windowsills of their apartment were just _ teeming  _ with flora. As it turned out, Dean was a devoted plant dad. 

Plus, Dean could always use the herbs when he cooked, which was yet another semi-surprising hobby of his. Really, bonding with Dean had given Cas a free crash-course in the dangers of preemptive stereotyping— seriously, who would have guessed that Mr. Beer-Over-Therapy was a Vonnegut fanboy? Certainly not Cas’ past self.

Live and learn.

Ahead of Cas, sprouting proudly from a matte black pot, were basil leaves. 

“Hello,” Cas grumbled, supposedly addressing the basil plant. “I swear to all that is holy, your father better not panic if I tell him what’s going on. He can be a very paranoid man, but I’m sure you know that already. You _ are  _ under his care, after all.”

The response was silence, as expected.

Without a doubt, Cas was going to need a better, more sentient distraction. 

⁂

“Hey, Charlie, can I ask you a question? It’s going to sound… borderline nonsensical, but I swear, there’s a good reason.”

Gently shutting the freezer door, Charlie swiveled around to face the breakfast bar. Cas was leaning back against the surface, a hard edge pressing into him from behind. Which, stung far less than Cas was sure it should have. 

Charlie’d shot him a text thirty minutes prior, letting Cas know she’d be stopping by for a check-in, in between her array of moving-related errands. Cas would continue to babysit The Moss for another day or two; still, she’d felt that a wellness check would be smart. Cas had to agree with her, there. Because, hey, it wasn’t as if he had any experience caring for magically enhanced, _possibly_ inadvertently cursed moss. Speaking of—

“Sure,” Charlie replied, leaning back against the fridge. She flashed a grin. “Maybe I’ll tease you about it, maybe I won’t. We’ll see.” 

Cas huffed, rolling his eyes. Even then, he couldn’t help but smile, matching his friend. Her warmth was infectious; although, it was largely superficial on Cas. Really, he was too stressed to broach any comorbid emotions. Which, sadly, seemed to include the pleasant ones. 

At risk of worrying Charlie and making himself appear even _ less _ capable of handling the situation, Cas made sure to keep his voice level. Steady and  _ clearly _ unbothered. “Well, it’s… actually pretty complicated. But, I suppose it boils down to: Is it ever possible for enchanted plant materials, no matter how benevolent, to backfire and have negative side effects on their surroundings? Like, almost, giving someone a magical allergic reaction?”

To Cas’ dismay, Charlie slid into a frown, furrowing her brow. “Yes, I guess? Maybe? Is something wrong?” 

Cas deflated. “Not exactly,” he said, although he knew it sounded like a stone-cold lie the moment it slithered out of his lips. So, he amended. “At least, it isn’t anything truly debilitating. Just incredibly strange, I guess.”

Charlie nodded, sucking on her bottom lip. “Got it. So, what’s up?”

“Well…” Cas paused to cringe. Okay, so, what was the  _ least _ alarming way he could go about explaining himself? He really should have prepared a script. Dammit. “Nothing too bad. Food hasn’t had much of a taste, I’ve had trouble sleeping, my skin is apparently impervious to boiling hot liquids—”

“Woah, woah, hold up. Really? Cas, seriously, what the hell happened?” 

Cas sighed. “I spilled hot coffee on myself. And, essentially, it just slid off my skin, without leaving any kind of burn, or causing me any pain. Only, that happened— wait, shit. That part happened before you even dropped off the moss.”

Brows nearly embedded into her hairline, Charlie spoke slowly. Understandable, since Cas was beginning to act more like a spooked animal by the second. “Cas. You know good and well that that’s not normal, nor is it okay. At least, if you didn’t intend for it to happen,” she said. “And, yeah, I highly doubt my fucking  _ moss _ would have such a dramatic effect. Christ. You do know that I use this stuff as a base for caffeine-substitute charms, right?”

“I know, I know.” Cas dug his palms deeper into the edge of the countertop. 

Charlie nodded, but narrowed her gaze. “Is that everything that’s been going on? Or, is there  _ totally _ more that you’re _ totally _ avoiding telling me about?”

At that point, Cas had only the flimsiest grasp on his resolve. Charlie could certainly come off as threatening, when she had a reason to. “Possibly,” he muttered.

“And?”

“And, last night, I’m pretty sure my entire abdomen was glowing blue. Like, as if there was a fluorescent light bulb shoved up into my ribs. Then, I may or may not have fallen unconscious, until this morning.  _ Maybe, _ ” Cas explained, seeing as there was no way he’d get out of  _ that _ conversation without confessing, lest Charlie crucify him against the wall of his own kitchen. 

Charlie was practically gaping, by then. She took a few overly cautious steps toward Cas, lowering her voice considerably. “Cas Novak. I’m sorry, but that is  _ so _ not okay. Seriously, that sounds like some kinda curse, or something! You really should—”

“I’ve done some research already, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I couldn’t find anything. At least, nothing involving my exact combination of symptoms. Clearly, if it’s a curse, it’s not an especially common one.” Cas shrugged.

Charlie huffed in response. “Well,” she said, “Freakish stomach light aside, have any of the more minor symptoms been causing you enough of an issue? Like, didn’t you mention something about a low appetite?”

“Food not tasting of anything,” Cas corrected. “Although, I guess I don’t have much of an appetite, either. I haven’t eaten since… two days ago, maybe.”

“And you’re  _ really  _ not hungry? Like, at all?”

Cas shook his head. His shame was palpable. “No, I’m really not.”

“Cas, this sure as hell doesn’t sound healthy. You—”

With his most impeccable timing to date, a bathrobe-clad Dean decided  _ then _ to stagger into the kitchen, clearly still sleep-dazed. He only allowed the new-found silence to hang in the air for a moment, before cutting through it, himself. “Hey,” he grumbled, then cleared his throat and headed toward the fridge. “You Cas’ co-worker? The mossy one?”

“Oh, uh. Sure, that’s me. I’m Charlie. I was just stopping by, to… check on the moss. Yeah, that’s all,” she said, obviously struggling to reorient her thoughts after the abrupt change in topic. The air was still so heavy, yet Dean seemed entirely unaffected by the pressure. Praise be to the sleepy, oblivious bastard.

“M’Dean. Hey, Cas, you eaten breakfast yet?”

“Oh! Um, I ate a small snack after waking up. I could go for breakfast, now, though.”

If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d say that Charlie was attempting to slice into his squishy, heat-resistant flesh with her stare, alone. Frankly, if the razor-sharp shame that Cas was struck with said anything, Charlie wasn’t too far off from her goal. A cocktail of daggers, concern, and curiosity— it was practically pouring from Charlie’s eyes, dousing Cas over the head like several consecutive jugs of ice water. 

How acceptable would it have been for a grown man to call “taksies backsies” on an entire conversation? 

Well, in any case, that was certainly the last time  _ he  _ took initiative over his own well-being. Cas would, instead, steal a page from Dean’s playbook: Never ask for help, no matter how desperately you need it. 

He would thank his friend later for setting such an enlightening example… whether or not Dean might appreciate Cas’ latest self-help philosophy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Beep boop here's my tumblr](http://goblincas.tumblr.com)


End file.
